The Gathering Shadow
by DearCassius
Summary: The world has changed. Elves, dwarves, and other creatures no longer live among the race of men, aside from a select few who must, at all costs, keep their true identities hidden. Life is relatively peaceful, until Sauron begins to grow in power again. It's going to take all the strength of the Broship of the Ring in order to stop him. LOTR AU Modern era.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

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The world has changed. There once was a time when elves, dwarves, and men all lived in harmony, and for thousands of years, Middle Earth was peaceful.

But the end began with the forging of the Great Rings.

Three were given to the Elves; immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven, to the Dwarf Lords; the great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. Nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern over all other races.

But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged, in secret, a master ring to control all others. Into this ring he poured all his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.

_One ring to rule them all._

One by one, the free peoples of Middle Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's sword. And Sauron, enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted.

And the ring of power has a will of its own.

It betrayed Isildur to his death. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. The world expanded. The name of Middle-Earth was changed simply to 'Earth'. Dwarves and elves and other races all but disappeared. Technology advanced, massive cities were built, and the ring passed out of all knowledge. For two and a half thousand years, it lay forgotten.

Until, when chance came, the ring ensnared a new bearer. In the 1850's, the ring came to a man named Smeagol, who took it deep into the sewers of Manhattan, and there it captivated and controlled him. The ring gave to Smeagol unnatural long life. For one hundred years, it poisoned his mind; and in the gloom and stench of Smeagol's tunnel, it waited.

Darkness crept into the minds of the leaders of the world. Unrest grew in the shadows, whispers of a nameless fear and political unease, and the Ring of Power perceived. Its time had now come.

It abandoned Smeagol.

But then something happened that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely of the ancient races imaginable. A hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, of Shire City, Maine.

For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all...

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"You never do anything, Frodo," Elsie Sackville-Baggins complained loudly, swerving to avoid a dip in the road. "You're young. You should go out with your friends and –"

Frodo sighed, leaning on his elbow and staring out the window of the vehicle. There was nothing that he hated more than spending time with his older cousins. For the seventh time that afternoon, he cursed himself for missing the bus yet again. In the seat beside him, Elsie prattled on about how socially active she had been at his age.

"– attended any parties this year? Graduation is coming up and –"

"Elsie, I don't _want _to go out with friends," Frodo finally cut her off, rolling his eyes. "I'm happy staying in with Uncle Bilbo most nights, and I've also got Sam."

She pursed her lips. "That's exactly my point, Frodo. It's unhealthy to sit around and listen to that old man's foolery. Have you looked into putting him in a resting home yet?"

"I'm _not _about to send him away," Frodo snapped, folding his arms around his skinny chest. "You're just _bitter_."

"He's gone mad, Frodo," she said, ignoring his accusation smoothly. "Always going off about dwarves and trolls and dragons…"

"It's interesting to listen to," he said, "and if you keep complaining about him like this, he might end up leaving you nothing in his will."

The lines around her eyes tightened. "Speaking of his will, how old is he again?"

"You've certainly seen the invitation by now. You know precisely how old he is."

"Oh, yeah, one-hundred and eleven, isn't he?" she said before adding under her breath, "Bloody unnatural, is what that is…"

"Piss off," Frodo said, reaching over and turning up the whiny pop song on the radio just as Elsie's car turned into the neighborhood of Hobbiton.

She disregarded his obvious request for her to shut up and continued, "Frodo, look, you're my cousin –"

"Second-cousin," Frodo interrupted. She went on regardless.

"– and I care about you. All I want is for you to have a normal teenage experience. You haven't gotten that while living with Bilbo. I know I'm away for college, but you're always welcome to go stay with my mum and dad. They care about you, too." Frodo had to stop himself from snorting at that – Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins thought he was the living embodiment of all that is evil._  
_

The sound of smooth pavement turned to the crunch of tires over gravel as the car pulled up in front of Frodo's uncle's house. The boy moved to exit the vehicle, but a hand on his arm pulled him back.

Frodo grudgingly turned to look at his relative. Her carefully straightened blonde hair framed her face and her upturned nose had a spray of freckles across the bridge, but he'd be a fool to deny that they didn't look at least somewhat similar. She had Baggins' eyes, just like he and Bilbo did.

"Please just consider the offer," she said earnestly. "It would be for the best, you know, if you left Bag-End."

Frodo rolled his eyes again and slid out the car door, slamming it shut behind him. Next time, he promised himself, he wouldn't miss the bus.

Behind him, her car sped away, leaving him on the curb. Frodo squared his shoulders and began walking up the front path.

To say that Uncle Bilbo was eccentric would be an understatement. The front door was perfectly round and painted a lively green, with a doorknob stuck right smack in the center of the wood. Like the doors, all of the windows were also circular. Bilbo, of course, hadn't built the house this way, since he had inherited it from his parents, but then again, he also hadn't bothered to change anything, despite having plenty of money to do so.

Not that Frodo was complaining or anything. He quite loved their shared house and all of its strange knick-knacks, even including the sword hung above the fireplace.

Their seventeen year old next-door-neighbor-slash-gardener, Sam Gamgee, was merrily trimming the hedges and whistling. When he saw Frodo, he waved happily. "Hullo, Mr. Frodo!"

"Hello, Sam," Frodo replied before entering the unlocked house – Uncle Bilbo almost never bolted it shut, unless the Sackville-Baggins had stopped by for a 'visit'. Frodo hung his school bag on one of the many hooks in the entrance hall.

"Bilbo, I'm home!" he called, kicking off his shoes. Oh, it felt good to have bare feet again.

There was the sound of a chair scooting back along the wooden floor, and soon, Bilbo hobbled out of the sitting room.

"Frodo, my dear boy!" he exclaimed. "What's taken you so long to get home?"

Frodo smiled shrewdly at his supposedly elderly uncle who didn't look a day older than sixty. "Missed the bus."

Bilbo tutted. "Well, come along, then. We have much to do before tomorrow and little time to waste!" He shuffled away towards the kitchen.

"Actually, I was thinking I might go out for a walk around the neighborhood, if that's all right with you," Frodo said, hand already on the doorknob.

Bilbo blinked once before catching on. "Did Elsie bring you home again? I don't blame you for wanting to clear your head. Go on, but be back before sundown."

"Thanks," Frodo said with a grin and he skipped back out of the house, not bothering to put his shoes on, reveling in the feeling of the warm cement against the soles of his feet.

"Off so soon, Mr. Frodo?" Sam called to him, pausing in his work of clipping leaves.

"Just out for a walk, Sam. You can come with, if you want," he offered, though he already knew the answer.

"Oh, I'd sure love to, but it's workin' hours for me." Sam held up his garden shears as unneeded proof. "And the Gaffer'd have my hide if I skived me duties."

"All right, Sam. See you later, I suppose." He waved goodbye and started making his way down the street towards the park.

Frodo stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and hummed a bright tune as he went. The melody was one that Bilbo had composed himself and was a favorite of his nephew.

"_The road goes ever on and on…" _Frodo mumbled as he watched a flock of geese fly overhead. When he reached a certain point on the sidewalk, he turned and headed onto the dirt trail.

Covered and secluded by large trees and bordered by a bubbling creek, it was a peaceful shortcut to the park. Frodo had discovered it himself when he first came to live at Bag End twelve years ago. Rolling up the hems of his trousers, he waded through the gentle stream.

"…_and I must follow if I can,"_ he recited, leaping from dry rock to dry rock in the creek, shedding his school blazer along the way. _"Pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way…"_

Eighteen. He'd be turning eighteen tomorrow. In a way, the birthday party was a joint party for the two of them. Frodo was pretty convinced that Bilbo had something rather big planned, but what it was, he couldn't say.

Eighteen. He'd be an adult tomorrow. He'd be able to vote and get married and move out tomorrow. Not that he wanted to. If he had his way, he'd live with Uncle Bilbo forever. He knew exactly what Elsie and her family were trying to do – if Frodo moved out and went to live with them, Uncle Bilbo would probably disown him as his heir, and then the Sackville-Baggins would become the owners of Bag End, which was their biggest goal in life. Yeah, there was no way that Frodo was going to fall for it.

Eighteen. He'd come into his inheritance tomorrow. If Bilbo dropped dead out of the blue tomorrow, even though he was the prime example of health, Frodo would be able to take over the household. Bag End would be all his, as lonely and cold as it might be without Uncle Bilbo.

It was hard to wrap his head around. Frodo certainly didn't feel mature enough to manage an entire place by himself.

At last, he reached the park and headed to his favorite spot under a large tree near the road. It wasn't a very populated road, which was good because it was generally quiet. Flopping down in the shade, Frodo cracked open his book. _Harry Potter_, it was called. To be honest, it was a ridiculous book, full of trolls and wizards and dragons. It was his absolute favorite.

A few minutes later, Frodo was completely engrossed in the story. Hours passed by, accompanied by the Sandyman's minivan trundling along down the street. Other than that, it was silent …

Until the familiar rumble of an ancient pick-up truck filled the air, that is.

With a cry of delight, Frodo tossed his book aside and dashed to the side of the road. Sure enough, he could a rusty blue truck with a back full of parcels. Frodo waved his hand wildly, and the truck pulled to a stop.

"You're late," Frodo said, poking his head through the truck's open window.

The old man driving the truck stared at him through circular, grey glasses. "A magician is never late, nor is he early, Frodo Baggins. He arrives precisely when he means to."

There was a moment of silence in which both people tried and ultimately failed to hide their grins. In unison, they both burst out laughing.

"It's awesome to see you, Gandalf," Frodo exclaimed, wrenching open the passenger door and leaping inside.

"I couldn't miss Bilbo's birthday, now could I?" Gandalf asked. "How's your uncle doing these days?"

"Same as ever," Frodo said with a shrug, "still convinced that he fought goblins when he was younger. But that's Uncle Bilbo, for you."

Gandalf chuckled, his long, grey beard quivering. It was clear from the way he dressed that he was stuck in the sixties. A blue piece of cloth had been tied around his wrinkled forehead, and it was braided with feathers and bead. A silver peace sign hung on a chain around his neck.

"So where've you been? Gone on any adventures? Tell me everything," Frodo demanded.

"Everything? You're too curious, man. Well, what am I supposed to say? Life goes on. People start wars. People end wars. What I think we all should do is take a nice, long sit and think about what we've done. Make peace with our inner demons, you know?"

Frodo nodded, choosing to skip over Gandalf's hippy-ish musings. "Did you bring the fireworks?"

"Ah, yes, the long expected party," the taller man said. "I hear it's going to be pretty sweet."

"Half the town has been invited," Frodo said. "I think he's up to something."

Gandalf cleared his throat but didn't say anything, turning the wheel sharply. They drove slowly past the field where tents were being set up in preparation for the event.

"Alright, alright…" Frodo shook his head. "Keep your secrets. You know, before you came along, we Bagginses were held in the highest esteem."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We never had any adventures or did anything unexpected." Frodo grinned.

"Look, man, if you're talking about the whole road-trip thing, it wasn't even my fault. I just gave your uncle a little shove out the door." From the floor beside him, Gandalf grabbed a bag of candy and tossed it to Frodo. Frodo instantly knew what it was for.

He looked out the window to where a gathering of expectant children had accumulated. Taking a handful of the treats, he tossed it to them. Happy shouts filled the air as one by one, they unwrapped the taffy and ate it, laughing in delight as their tongues turned different colors.

"How do you do that?" Frodo said incredulously as the drove past. Gandalf only smiled one of his secret smiles. "Well, whatever it is you do, you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace. A few of our neighbors are trying to get restraining orders on you."

Gandalf laughed as they parked in the driveway of Bag End. In Frodo's absence, a garland of brightly colored paper links had been strewn over the railings leading to the door. Sam had finished trimming the hedges and had gone back to his own house.

Frodo smiled and said, "Gandalf? I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, Frodo," Gandalf said, unbuckling his tattered seatbelt. "So am I…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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Gandalf knocked on the door of Bag End and stepped back, adjusting his khaki bucket hat.

"Go away!" shouted a voice from inside. "I'm very busy."

"Too busy for me, man? Ouch, that hurts," Gandalf said, pulling his pipe out of one of the bottomless pockets in his dirty shorts. He used it to scratch his ankle before lighting it and inhaling deeply.

Suddenly, the green door flew open to reveal a delighted Bilbo Baggins. "Gandalf!" he cried. "I wasn't sure you'd make it for the party."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, bro," Gandalf said, blowing out a smoke ring. It floated gently in the air for a moment. Then, it disappeared. "I hear it's gonna be a pretty rad party."

"Come in, come in," Bilbo said, bustling about. Gandalf had to bow his head in order to enter through the small door. "Tea? Coffee? I've got wine, too, if that's what you'd like."

"Got any root beer? I'm living a no-alcohol lifestyle, if you know what I mean," Gandalf replied as Bilbo scurried off to the kitchen.

"Hungry? Our gardener brought over a marvelous cake yesterday. Or I can cook some bacon or eggs," the much shorter man offered.

"Nah, just some root beer would be cool, man." Gandalf sat at the table in the front room and brushed away some pencil shavings covering a hand drawn map. The TV blared next to him. Some horrid soap opera was playing. Wincing, Gandalf snatched up the remote and muted it.

Bilbo quickly returned with the refreshments. "B'choo dun min' if ah e't?" he said thickly through a mouth full of chocolate cake and strawberries.

"Go ahead. It's all good." Gandalf held up the map. "Is this what I think it is?"

Bilbo nodded and swallowed. "I do get bored when Frodo's at school. I must have _something _to keep me occupied."

"Ni-i-ice. How's the book coming along?"

"I'm almost done," Bilbo said as he grabbed his laptop off of the desk by the window. "If only I could think of an ending…"

"It'll come to you." Gandalf shrugged. "Hey, speaking of your lil' nephew, have you told him yet?"

"Told him what?" Bilbo muttered, still staring at his closed laptop, lost in deep thought.

"About, you know, what he is." This snapped Bilbo out of his musings.

"No," he said sharply. "And I'm not planning on either. He doesn't need anything else to worry about. His school grades are suffering quite enough."

"Man, come _on._ You've gotta tell him!" the taller man scolded. "Your parents told you, and their parents told them. We have to stick with the flow of things, am I right?"

Bilbo sighed heavily and dropped into the armchair by the fire. "To be honest, I wish I'd never learned the truth. I certainly don't wish such a burden on Frodo. He's too young."

"And if you'd never learned the truth, Bilbo," Gandalf said sternly, bushy grey eyebrows furrowed, "what would you be now? You wouldn't be the hobbit I know today, that's for sure."

"Let's not bring up hobbits," Bilbo groaned. "Just for once, can't we pretend that I'm a normal human being with no… _unusual _heritage?"

"Bilbo," Gandalf said, his tone full of warning, suddenly dropping his cool-guy air. "We cannot ignore our own selves."

Bilbo shook his head. "I know, I know… it's just, I'm starting to feel old, Gandalf. I know I don't look it, but I'm starting to feel it. I feel… _thin. _Sort of stretched – like using a WiFi signal that's just too far away to get a good connection. I need a vacation. A very long vacation. One I expect not to return from." His voice dropped to a very low, very dangerous whisper. "In fact, I mean not to."

"You're going through with your plan, then?" Gandalf said after a long, tense silence. Bilbo nodded wearily. Gandalf, who had been leaning forward in his seat, leaned back and took off his round, shaded glasses. He made an attempt to clean the lenses on his dirty shirt, but the act just made them even dirtier. "I suppose you'll be leaving everything to Frodo?"

"Yes," Bilbo said. "Yes, everything will go to him. That's why I've waited this long, after all. Tomorrow, he'll be old enough to take care of himself. And, Gandalf, if I might ask of you one favor…"

"Yeah, man?" Gandalf responded, eying his old friend carefully.

"Ca- can you explain everything to the boy? I would do it myself, though I don't want to, but it would be better if you… it would be better if you did it." Bilbo looked down at his lap where he was wringing his hands together.

"Sure, bro," Gandalf said, reaching over and patting Bilbo on the shoulder. "He would want to hear it from you, but I'll do it."

"Thank you, Gandalf," Bilbo said, finally smiling. "I really do appreciate it."

**0-0-0-0**

The next morning dawned red. Gandalf, who had slept overnight in his truck despite Bilbo's insistence that he took one of the rooms in the house, woke early and watched the sun rise from the roof. A few streets away, he could see massive tents being put up at the local park in preparation for the party.

It was going to be a very busy day.

"Hey, Gandalf!" Frodo said groggily, sticking his head through his bedroom window and looking up to the roof. "Why are you up at this hour?"

"Meditating, man," Gandalf said. "You know what they say – late to bed, early to rise, makes a man feel pretty great."

Frodo was sure that wasn't how the saying went, but he was used to it from Gandalf. "Uh, well, alright. D'you mind if I join you?"

"Nah, come on up. Just don't disturb the vibes."

Three minutes later, Frodo, still clad in his pajamas and dressing gown, clambered out of the hatch in the rooftop and plopped himself down next to the old, grey-haired man. "I brought muffins," he announced, pulling a slightly squashed sandwich baggie from his pockets. Frodo opened the package and passed one to Gandalf.

"Is this vegan?" he asked, studying it.

Frodo blinked, confused. "No, it's chocolate."

"Sweet." Gandalf took a bite, crumbs falling into his long beard. "Listen, Frodo, there's something that your uncle wanted me to –"

He was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut on the ground below and the voice of Mr. Gamgee – or, the Gaffer, as most people called him – shouting, "You'll wake the whole neighborhood if ya go 'round making such a racket, Samwise!"

"Sorry, Dad," Sam called back. "Mr. Frodo?" he said, surprised. "And Mr. Gandalf? What're you two doin' up there, of all places?"

"We're getting in touch with our inner spirits, Samwise," Gandalf replied. Sam glanced around and then craned his neck up to look at the two again.

"Actually, we're eating muffins and watching the sunrise," Frodo explained. "Want one?"

"Nah," the lighter haired boy said. "I've got me some work to be doin'."

"Suit yourself." Frodo shrugged his shoulders. "What were you saying, Gandalf?"

But Gandalf had slumped forward, hat balancing precariously on his head, fast asleep.

**0-0-0-0**

The party was _wild. _Bilbo had invited half the city of the Shire in addition to his numerous relatives. Music blared from the speakers around the park, and tables were laden with all sorts of finger foods. An enormous pile of presents sat stacked in one of the tents - party favors for the guests. Fireworks crackled overhead, and the bright bursts of sparks illuminated the dance floor. Children ran around, playing at the park across the field or else, much like the adults, stuffing their faces with food.

"Come on, Sam," Frodo laughed, bounding over to the table where his friend was sitting. "Go talk to Rosie."

"N-no, I'll just stay here," Sam stuttered, gripping his plastic cup of soda tightly.

Frodo rolled his eyes and grinned, grabbing Sam's arm and yanking him out of his chair, pushing him towards where Rosie Cotton was talking with her friends. There was no doubt that she was one of the prettiest girls in the city – she was a cheerleader at their school, and it wasn't difficult to see why Sam was nursing a huge crush on her.

Sam stumbled over, smiling shyly. Rosie gleefully started a conversation with him, though whether it was because she was expected to be nice to everybody or because she genuinely liked Sam, Frodo wasn't sure. Leaving his friend to fend for himself, Frodo abandoned his seat and left for a stroll around the rest of the party.

He passed his uncle, who was in the middle of another telling of his infamous tale. Little kids were gathered around his feet, listening with rapt attention as he recounted his adventures with trolls and goblins. Frodo snorted, remembering the days when he was young enough to believe in mythical creatures as well. Still, though, he plopped himself down on the grass some distance away and tuned in as well.

Across the park where the fireworks were being stored stood two, young boys about Frodo's age. They'd been biding their time - chatting up pretty girls, of course - and waiting for the moment when Gandalf would abandon his post and wander off to get some food.

"Ready, Pip?" Merry whispered, pushing his large, square, lens-less glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I'll hoist you up."

Pippin nodded, and Merry shoved his cousin into the back of Gandalf's ancient truck, hissing, "Grab the biggest one you can find," under his breath.

"This one?" Pippin held up a green parcel. Merry shook his head.

"Bigger."

Pippin dug through the pile, cursing when his plaid scarf became entangled in the packages. Soon, he gave a cry of excitement. "Got it."

"Hurry up, then," Merry said, grabbing Pippin's leg and pulling him roughly out of the truck's bed. "Oh, that one is brilliant. Hang on, I need to put this on Instagram..."

The one Pippin had grabbed was two feet tall, bright red, and topped with a fearsome golden dragon. Merry spent a moment digging around for his iPhone and taking the picture, and then the two of them dashed into a tent that had been set up, giggling.

"Light it," Pippin ordered, passing a match to his cousin. Merry complied, and the spark fizzled down the fuse.

"Wait…" Merry paused. "Shouldn't we take this out –?"

_BANG._

The two trouble-making hipsters were thrown back off their feet as the lit firework went off, soaring like a rocket and taking the tent with it. With a tremendous crash, it exploded fifty feet up in the air into a shower of red and gold sparks.

"My scarf is _singed_," Pip whined, stars dancing in front of his eyes. "And it was _vintage._"

"Worth it," Merry breathed, watching the firework fade in the sky. He could swear he'd seen a dragon swoop through the sparks, but then again, he had just sustained a blow to the back of his head.

A pair of feet clad in dirty socks and sandals came into view. "Really, dudes?" the owner of the feet said. "That was the grand finale."

Pippin grinned, embarrassed, up at Gandalf. Gandalf glowered back, reaching down and grabbing the two by the collars of their shirts. "Meriadoc Brandybuck," he growled. "And Peregrin Took. Can't say I'm surprised."

"It was just a bit of fun?" Merry offered, squirming – for an old hippie, Gandalf had a very tight grip.

"You two can be in charge of clean-up," Gandalf declared, shoving the pair away from him.

"Clean-up?" Pippin said, appalled. "That is _so _mainstream."

"Come on, Pip," Merry muttered. "Let's just get it over with." And he dragged his cousin away.

Back at the main part of the party, Bilbo ascended the stairs to the makeshift stage to give his birthday speech. The crowd wasn't very pleased about this – Bilbo's speeches went on for hours sometimes. Besides, they only came for food and party favors, both of which were thankfully in abundance.

Bilbo cleared his throat into the microphone. "Friends!" he cried. "Family! People I don't know half as well as I should and those who I like less than half as well as you deserve! Welcome to my eleventy-first birthday party!"

At this, the crowd rolled their eyes. Gandalf chuckled from where he was sitting cross-legged on a picnic table, smoking his medicinal pipe.

Unfazed, Bilbo continued, "But this isn't just my party – my nephew and heir, Frodo, comes of age today. Also, this marks the day when I arrived by barrel to Esgaroth, but I need not repeat the story here. I trust you know it well enough?" He didn't wait for any replies, knowing that everyone in the city of the Shire knew his epic (and in their minds, fictional) tale.

"Anyways…" He paused for effect. "I wish to make an announcement. I regret to tell you that this is the end. I- I am going. I'm leaving. Goodbye."

And he disappeared into thin air.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the kind reviews on the last chapter. They prompted me to continue. Also, I'd like to explain that while this is following the dialogue of the movie, I'll be including a ton of the stuff in the book. **

**Thanks again, and if it isn't too much of a bother, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

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Chuckling gleefully at his little trick, Bilbo scurried back under the cover of his little golden trinket down the street to Bag End. He was certain the park was in an uproar over his disappearance – the city of the Shire, especially the neighborhood in which he lived, Hobbiton, were not particularly fond of disturbances of any kind. Once upon a time, Bilbo had been much the same. Oh, how things had changed.

In the safety of his home, Bilbo removed the ring, his most prized possession, from his finger. He smiled at it for a brief moment before slipping it into his pocket. "Yes, yes," he muttered, "time to pack."

Laptop and its charger? Check. Food for the journey? Double check. After changing into a loose, button up, t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, Bilbo wandered back into the sitting room for one last look at the place. He didn't like the idea of leaving his beloved nephew here all alone, but he was sure Frodo could manage both himself and the household. He was a clever boy.

"Are you positive you want to go through with this, man?" said a voice from the corner of the room.

Unsurprised, Bilbo turned around to face his old friend who was sitting cross-legged, smoking a pipe thoughtfully. "I- I'm certain. I've made all the arrangements. And… you'll keep an eye on Frodo?"

"Two, as much as I can," Gandalf reassured him.

"I'm leaving everything to him. I'd take the boy with me, and I know he'd come, but..." Bilbo trailed off, ending with a sigh. "It's time for him to be in charge of himself."

"So… you're leaving the ring to him as well, right?"

Bilbo hesitated. "It's in an envelope above the television, along with the deeds to the house and my will." He shouldered his heavy bag. Gandalf got up to sift through the papers on top of the screen. "No, hang on a moment. It's… it's here. In my pocket. Odd, isn't it?"

Slowly, Bilbo pulled the ring out and held it up to the light. Gandalf eyed him curiously, finding the envelope of documents and bringing it over. "Put it in," he demanded.

The fingers gripping the golden circle tightened. "Why should I? It's mine, after all. It's my own… It's my _precious,_" he crooned, a strange gleam flickering in his eyes.

"It was called that by another dude before you," Gandalf said. "Don't you remember?"

"Why do you care so much about it? Oh, I know; _you _just want it for yourself!" Bilbo accused, curling his hands in towards his body and backing away, a murderous expression crossing over his face.

Suddenly, the room seemed to grow dark. Gandalf, who had been in his usual slouched position, straightened his spine, adding several more inches to his height. "Don't take me for a dumb magician, Bilbo Baggins! I'm not trying to take it from you. I'm trying to help. Peace, bro."

"Oh, Gandalf," Bilbo said wearily. "You're right. It… It would be a relief to be rid of the stupid thing." He hurried to the entryway, letting the ring slip between his fingers with a hint of reluctance. It clattered to the wooden floor and lay there. Outside, there was a rumble as a large semi-truck pulled up. "I assume that's them?"

Gandalf nodded, crossing over to open the door for his friend. Bilbo walked down the first two steps that led to the front lawn. As expected, an enormous, eighteen-wheeler was parked on the street. A short, rugged man with an impressive beard slid out of the front seat and waved to Bilbo.

"I never thought I'd be traveling the road with dwarves again," Bilbo remarked with a smile. "Goodbye, Gandalf!"

"See you later, man," Gandalf replied, smiling fondly. Bilbo nearly skipped across the yard, humming a song. The driver helped Bilbo climb up into the truck, and before Gandalf knew it, the vehicle was roaring away down the skinny, suburban street.

"Bye, Bilbo, until we see each other again," he said quietly, turning and heading back indoors, relighting his medicinal pipe.

**0-0-0-0**

"He's gone?" Frodo asked sadly when he returned to the house. Gandalf was sitting in the darkened living room, now huffing and puffing on a vanilla-flavored cigarette.

"Yep," Gandalf said. "He left you a packet with all of the information about the house. His bank account details are in there too."

"Oh." Frodo sighed, collapsing into an armchair.

The old man cleared his throat and turned to Frodo. "Hey, look, there are some things he wanted me to tell you. It's all going to sound pretty jacked up, but just listen, 'kay?"

"Um. Alright?" Frodo said.

Twenty minutes later, Frodo sort of felt like finding the nearest cliff and jumping off of it.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious," Gandalf said.

"No."

"Yeah."

"How much have you smoked?"

"Not nearly enough."

Frodo groaned, exasperated. "Gandalf, it's a _ring._ And I'm going to bed."

"Frodo Baggins!" Gandalf shouted. "If I took the time to explain everything right now, John Lennon would be dead before I finished."

"John Lennon _is _dead."

"Blasphemy," Gandalf muttered. "If you won't accept that the ring is magic, at least keep it safe."

"Fine, fine," Frodo relented. "I'll look after it. Next you'll be trying to tell me I'm a wizard or something…" He walked over to pick up the ring where it lay on the hallway floor. Carelessly, he shoved it into his pocket.

Gandalf rolled his eyes. "I'll be back to check in on it later. Keep it secret."

**0-0-0-0**

Frodo didn't sleep well that night. First, he had a strange dream that he was short and furry-footed, and for some reason, he had to take Bilbo's old ring to destroy it. Then, the vision changed to one of him being stabbed by a sword and turning into a creature that dressed in dark robes, similar to those he'd seen in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. _Sam, his gardener, was present in both dreams.

His alarm clock went off at six, and at six-fifteen sharp, the ringing of his doorbell began. Huffing, he rolled out of bed, dressed quickly, and dashed to answer it.

Relatives from all over were lined up at Frodo's door and they were here for one thing only: to find out A) what happened to Bilbo, and more importantly, B) if he'd left them anything in the will. They filled his front yard completely.

He had no idea how they'd heard of Bilbo's will so quickly (he suspected someone had posted about it on Facebook, and he made a mental note to find out whoever it was and make them pay for it.).

"Wow, that's a lot of people," Merry Brandybuck said in astonishment, coming up behind his younger cousin.

"Merry?" Frodo said. "What are you doing in my house?"

"I stayed the night," he said with a shrug, sipping out of his steaming coffee mug. "Figured you wouldn't mind. And, really, you should start locking your doors."

"You can't just walk int-"

"Morning, Frodo!" one of his more distant relatives whose name he wasn't sure of called, bounding up the porch stairs.

"Uh, hi," Frodo replied. "Who are you?"

"Milo Burrows. I came to see if your uncle was home." Milo was about as tall as Frodo – shortness ran in the family – and had a shock of vivid red curls adorning his head.

"He's not," Frodo said simply. "He left. I'm guessing the real reason you're here is for his will?"

That's why they all were here, it turned out, much as Frodo had assumed. A mirror here, a set of pens there; soon, Bag End was filled to the brim with people scrabbling to get what they'd been left. Frodo was having a hell of a time.

"This is ridiculous," Merry moaned, who Frodo had quickly put to work with sorting and distributing gifts. "Oi! You there! That's not for y – don't you look at me like that, kid!" Merry yelled at one of their younger cousins who had been trying to sneak Bilbo's sword off of the mantelpiece. The kid dropped it and dashed away, and Merry turned back to Frodo. "Have you seen Pippin?"

"Pippin?" Frodo said distractedly. "Did he sleep over too?"

"Yes, and I haven't seen him all morning. He's probably mourning over the loss of his favorite scarf," Merry sniffed, taking off his glass-less glasses and polishing the black rim. "He's such a drama queen."

Frodo rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get some more coffee. Keep an eye on the rest of the house, will you? Make sure nobody takes anything that's not specifically given to them in the will."

Fighting his way through the crowd in the front hall, Frodo finally reached the kitchen, which was mercifully empty. Heaving a great sigh, he poured another cup of strong, black coffee, adding liberal amounts of sugar to it. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker, but today was the exception, and this was his fifth cup so far.

He'd just sat down at one of the barstools when someone else barreled through the entryway.

"Frodo!" the person cried out. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Pippin?" Frodo said wearily. "Where've you been?"

Pippin flounced in, sporting a singed scarf and suspenders. "Well, I was sleeping, but all of this racket woke me up."

"I'm so sorry," Frodo remarked, voice laden with sarcasm. "Please accept my deepest apologies."

"You know, using sarcasm is _so _2008," Pip said. "Merry needs you, by the way."

"If he's caught anything on fire –"

"Don't worry, he hasn't," Pippin quickly reassured him. "It's just, some of your other relatives need to see you. I think the lady's name was Lil B or some other mainstream name like that."

Burying his face in his hands, Frodo let out a pitiful whimper. "Please, _anyone _but them."

**0-0-0-0**

"There he is," Lobelia snapped, clutching her purse to her chest as if someone might try and wrench it from her clawed fingers. "Been hiding, have you?"

"Just like him to skirt around his familial obligations," Otho muttered as Frodo approached them, trailed by Pippin.

"Hello, Aunt Lobelia," Frodo said, forcing his tone to be polite. Grudgingly, he kissed her on the cheek. "Good afternoon, Uncle Otho." Then, he nodded coldly to their two kids, Elsie and Lotho. Lotho was a year younger than Frodo, and he had hated his older cousin ever since they'd first met.

"Pizza Face," Pippin grumbled from behind Frodo. Lotho's acne-ridden face contorted into a mask of hatred.

"That's a nice scarf, loser," Lotho sneered. "Where'd you get it? _Old People R Us_?"

"It's called fashion," Pippin replied, nostrils flaring. "Look it up."

Frodo elbowed Pippin sharply in the ribs. "Can it, Pip. Anyways, Auntie, how are you?"

Lobelia ignored his question and went straight to the point. "Where's his will?" she said sharply, snapping her fingers under his nose.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Frodo said, "I'll just go grab what he left to you."

Frodo knew exactly what little had been left to them and he knew exactly where the package had been found. He clearly remembered the smirk on Bilbo's face as he'd confided in Frodo his plan to make the Sackville-Baggins angrier than ever before. It was a shame Bilbo wasn't here to witness the looks on their faces.

"Here you go," Frodo said as he returned to the sitting room a few moments later, a heavy case tucked under his arm. Hungrily, Lobelia snatched it away from him and tore open the brown wrapping covering it.

"Silver spoons?" she spat. "Oh, I bet he thinks he's so _funny_, doesn't he?" She slammed the lid of the case back down, causing the utensils to rattle shrilly.

"I'll tell you what, Frodo," Otho said briskly. "Let's make a deal. I'm willing to –"

Otho was a successful business man, Frodo knew, but he wasn't about to fall for this. "I'm not selling anything. What was left to you on the will is all you're getting from this house."

His uncle's face flushed a bright, angry red, and fuming, he said, "You'll regret this, _boy._" And with that said, he marched out of the house, towing Lotho and Elsie along with him.

"Bye, Frodo!" Elsie called cheerily. She'd been too busy texting on her phone to pay attention to the spat that had just occurred.

Frodo waved and exited the sitting room himself, leaving Lobelia muttering curses behind him.

**0-0-0-0**

When the last of his confounded relatives had been escorted off of the property – including Lobelia, who had been trying to smuggle out some other, valuable trinkets – Frodo sank into the couch in front of the television, prepared to watch a marathon of _Doctor Who._ Merry and Pippin had, thankfully, also gone home, and the house was peaceful at last.

However, Frodo had only just turned on the latest episode when there was a frantic pounding on his door.

No. He wouldn't answer it. Frodo upped the volume. It was probably Lobelia, anyways, come back to say something nasty. Frodo had had quite enough of her today.

The knocking increased in urgency. "Frodo Baggins!" an angry voice called out. "If you don't let me in, I'll break the door down myself if I have to."

"Gandalf," Frodo squeaked, flinging his remote to the side and launching off the couch to answer the door. He wrenched the door open, not doubting for a second that the wiry old man would actually smash through. "I'm sorry. I thought it was my Aunt Lobelia again."

"No time for talking, man, we've gotta get you out of here," Gandalf cried, forcing past Frodo.

"What d'you mean?" Frodo called as Gandalf entered the sitting room.

"Where's the ring, Frodo?" he said anxiously, pacing back and forth and trying to smoke his unlit pipe.

"R-ring? What ring?" Frodo stammered.

"The Ring, bro! _The Ring!_"

"Bilbo's ring? It's here, it's in my pocket." With trembling fingers, Frodo pulled it out of his jeans pocket and offered it to the old hippie. Gandalf stared at it a moment before visibly relaxing.

"Good, good," he sighed. "That's what I've come to talk to you about."

"Oh, for the love of God, Gandalf," Frodo said, exasperated, "If you start talking about magic, I'm going to put you in a retirement home for the rest of your life."

"Why you gotta be like that, man?" Gandalf said. "But, fine, I won't talk about magic. There's no time, anyways. You need to leave."

"L-leave? Leave to where?" Frodo asked, taken aback. He'd never seen the old man worked up like this before. "Gandalf, I'm not leaving."

"There are guys who would kill to have that ring. Did you know that? And they're coming for you. Trust me on this, kiddo. You have to get out of Shire City."

Frodo blinked, pausing for a moment to think those words over. "What must I do?"

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the wait! This chapter was a killer to write, and I'm still not entirely pleased with it. Next chapter, though, the quest begins, and I'm hoping the words will come to me easier. **

**Please, please, **_**please **_**leave feedback. Getting reviews is one of the best things about writing. So, yeah, review.**

**Thank you so much!**

**-S**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Pack a change of clothes and only things you absolutely need, bro," Gandalf warned, smearing a glob of marshmallow fluff over a piece of bread. "You're gonna have to travel light."

Frodo ran his fingers through his dark curls as he shoved a couple pairs of balled up socks into his backpack – he'd brought his entire wardrobe into the kitchen to sort through. "School starts in a week, Gandalf. My senior year. I'll be back in time, right?"

Pursing his lips, Gandalf transferred the sandwich into a plastic bag and set it atop the other five he'd made. "I don't know, kiddo. Maybe."

"This is ridiculous," Frodo muttered, trying to stuff a jacket into the already full pack. "You should be glad that I trust you…"

Gandalf ignored him.

"Alright, so where exactly are we supposed to _go_?" Frodo asked. He tried in vain to zip up the backpack, but with a loud pop, it burst open again.

"Man, I told you to only pack some spare clothes," the old hippie said, "not everything you own. Give me that." He snatched it away, removing half of the contents before successfully shutting it. With a snap of his fingers, the zipper lit up with a golden glow and quickly faded.

Frodo looked up in alarm. "How did you do –?"

"Magic." Gandalf shrugged. "Listen close, dude. You need to leave the Shire. Head for Bree – it's a lil' town about seventy miles east of here." He paused a moment, scratching his dirty beard in thought. "They sell great beef jerky and cigarettes there; you can't miss it. There's a café called the Prancing pony, and I'll wait for you there."

"Wait for me there – but aren't you coming with me?" Frodo asked, slinging his bag across his shoulders.

The spectacled man shook his head. "Nah, I have an old college buddy in Illinois I need to see."

"What?! But, Gandalf, I-I don't have a car! How do you expect me to get to Bree?" Frodo snapped. "On foot? Ride a bike, maybe?"

"No!" Gandalf said sharply. "No bikes. Bikes are definitely out. That's what _they _ride."

"Should I assume that 'they' are the people I'm trying to avoid?" Frodo rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Gandalf."

"Ah, see, this is where your little buddy comes in," Gandalf grinned.

"Little buddy? What?"

In response, Gandalf merely stepped over to the kitchen pantry and opened the door. Out tumbled a very familiar face.

"_Sam?_" Frodo exclaimed. "What the _hell _are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Sammy was eavesdropping," Gandalf put in.

"I was not!" Sam spluttered, face flushing a bright red. "If you really are wantin' to know, I was stuck in there. Today, I wanted to plant you some of those sunflowers you like, and well, Mr. Bilbo keeps the flower seeds in here, but then one of your younger cousins – I think his name's Lotho? – Anyways, he shut the door while I was in here. And… yeah. I couldn't get it to open again."

"Sam…" Frodo groaned. "Why didn't you call for help?"

"I-I didn't want to bother you." Sam looked down at his shuffling feet.

"I was the one who sealed the door shut," Gandalf said.

Frodo snapped his head over to look at Gandalf. "You _what?_"

"Magic." He wiggled his fingers.

Sam looked confused.

"Gandalf, I'm sorry, but that was awful of you to do! Locking Sam in a closet for who knows how long… Sam, next time, bang on the door or something." Frodo smiled apologetically at his friend.

"_Next time?_" Sam squawked.

"Anyways," Gandalf said, "we need to get a move on. Sam can drive."

"But –" Sam started to say.

"No way –" Frodo objected.

"Don't test me, you two!" Gandalf said, voice growing dangerously dark. He flung the bag of marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwiches at Sam, who caught it easily. "Now _leave_."

**0-0-0-0**

"_Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee."_

The parting words from Gandalf as he'd loaded the two in Sam's sister's car were still ringing in his head. Sam wasn't entirely sure what the old man had meant by them – don't leave Frodo in a gas station bathroom by accident? Don't let him get lost if they stopped at any stores?

Looking over at his sleeping friend as they sped down the highway that ran through Shire City, Sam smiled to himself. They'd been close ever since Frodo moved in with Bilbo. Of course, Frodo spent most of his time by himself, and even though he'd never actually brought the subject up with Frodo, Sam liked to consider the two of them to be best friends. After all, aside from Frodo's relatives, Sam was the only one who knew exactly what had happened to the darker haired teenager's parents.

Whether they were best friends or not, Sam had never thought he'd be in a situation like this.

In fact, he wasn't even entirely sure _what _the situation _was_. Something about one of Bilbo's rings? And then a bit about some guys on bikes. All he knew was that Frodo was some sort of wanted fugitive now.

Sam's hazel eyes widened as his mind strayed down that particular line of thought. What if Frodo had done something bad and was now on the run from the police? What if he was a _murderer_? And what if Sam was unknowingly helping a serial killer get away?

He shook himself to get rid of the stupid idea. Frodo definitely wasn't a killer. In fact, he couldn't even kill a spider by himself – he always made Sam or Bilbo catch it and release it outside for him.

But still. _What _exactly _was this all about?_

Sam pressed his foot down on the pedal and the bright green car accelerated as they approached the outer boundaries of Shire City.

**0-0-0-0**

Frodo was awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder gently. Blearily, he blinked his eyes, trying to clear the sleep out of them.

"Sam?" he said, clearing his throat. "What's going on?"

"I've just stopped for gas. I was wonderin' if you wanted anything from the gas station," Sam explained.

Yawning, Frodo replied, "No, I'm not hungry, but I think I'll go for a walk. Stretch my legs. Where are we?"

"About thirty miles away from Bree, according to the GPS." Sam tapped the glowing screen on the dashboard of the car. "Don't go too far – the sun hasn't risen all the way yet, and I don't want you to get lost."

"Yeah, yeah," Frodo said, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the vehicle. "Text me when you're finished filling up."

"Will do," Sam said.

The early morning sunshine felt good on Frodo's arms as he strolled down the street. The gas station Sam had picked was right in the middle of a street fair sort of thing. Booths of all sorts were set up, offering handmade bags and shoes and whatnot. Frodo ran his fingers down a pair of jeans that had been dyed a dark green. He could completely picture Merry and Pippin being at an event like this.

"Excuse me!" a voice said as a person cut in front of him to admire the green pants. Frodo scrunched his eyebrows as the voice registered in his mind.

"Pippin?" he asked incredulously. The figure turned around, jeans clutched in his fingers.

"Frodo! Hey, Merry," he called to another person a short distance away, "it's Frodo!"

"What are you doing out so early?" Frodo asked as Merry bounded up.

"We could ask you the same question," Merry said brightly, adjusting his suspenders. "Pip and I are hitting the stalls while the shop keepers are still tired." Then, lowering his voice, he added, "That makes it easier to take things."

"T-take things? You're stealing?" Frodo nearly shouted. Anxiously, Pippin clapped a hand over Frodo's mouth.

"Not so loud!" he whispered sharply, dragging Frodo away, arms still full of clothes from the booth with the jeans.

"Pippin, put those back!" Frodo snapped, trying to jerk free of his cousins' grasps. "You can't just take them!"

"Hey, you kids!" an angry voice yelled from behind them. "Where do you think you're going with those?"

"Run!" Merry screamed, letting a pair of sunglasses with the price tag still attached clatter to the asphalt.

Pippin and Merry broke into a sprint, pulling a reluctant Frodo along with them. They darted into an alley way, turning corners sharply. Frodo could still hear the enraged shopkeeper following their trail.

"Hurry up!" Pippin whined, tightened his hold on Frodo's hand.

"You two are really dumb," Frodo growled.

"Takes one to know one," Merry called to him, panting heavily.

"That didn't even make sense," Frodo replied.

Feet pounding on the concrete, they emerged onto an empty road littered with garbage and dirt lots. "Think we lost him?" Merry wheezed.

"Lost him, yeah…" Frodo said. "And lost ourselves as well."

"Ew," Pippin said, staring across the street at some graffiti decorating the side of a building. "Graffiti is _so _mainstream. Chalk art is way more underground."

"'OLD MAN WILLOW'," Merry read out loud. "What's an Old Man Willow?"

"I'm the Old Man Willow," said a deep voice. A man in his mid-twenties stepped out from behind a garbage can. Clad in baggy, saggy, hole-riddled pants, a white t-shirt, and a red bandana, he fit the image Frodo always thought of when he heard the phrase 'thug life'.

Several others dressed in a similar fashion were appearing from around the boarded-up doors in the buildings. One cracked his knuckle menacingly. Pippin shrunk back, cowering against Frodo.

Old Man Willow approached the three, walking slowly. "Yeah, punks. I'm the Old Man Willow, and you're in _my_ territory now."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Author's Note: Geez, I'm so sorry about the wait for this chapter! I feel like I say that every time, but really. I'm sorry.**

**Anyways, I feel like I should clear this up since maybe a few readers haven't read the Lord of the Rings books and have only seen the movies. Old Man Willow actually IS a character, so no, I'm not just making him up! Sorry if it's confusing to anyone!**

**Though, I wonder how many people actually care that it takes so long for me to post. Is anybody still reading this? Not to sound pushy or anything, but if nobody reads this, then what's the point in me continuing to write it?**

**If you did review, though, I thank you for that! Really, it means a lot!**

**-Cass**


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